


Myrtilles

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Collations [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 20:06:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2201355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The arm around him tightened, fractionally, and he was the one backing Hannibal against the wall, but there was no, no feeling of control, nothing that the killer part of his mind was reaching for, snapping at and failing to grasp. It was a relief, and the other man tasted of lager and a little like meat. Something, something... Familiar. Something so close, just at the edge of his understanding, and then there was a motion, a movement, and the world shifted into something strange and spectacular, physical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Myrtilles

Bars were loud and packed with people who were brimming with emotions -- fear of being alone, joy in celebrations that would be fleeting, the queer idea that one could take depressants until depression subsided, but he understood falling prey to the trap of thinking drink could aid a poor night's sleep. The sleep of oblivion had its allures, and after all, wasn't that why he was there? 

He was either going to drink himself out of his mind, or he was going to set himself so firmly in his mind that there was no doubting he was there. That he had to put himself in a drastic position to re-attain himself spoke to how far he'd gotten.

Sometimes he just needed to be... not himself and not in his head, and sometimes he needed more than anything to be completely in his head. He couldn't seem to decide which day this was, and so he was seriously considering just drinking himself into a hole and seeing what happened when he finally woke.

He'd started with beer, but as he'd continued to watch the revelers and the fake revelers, and the pure sufferers, he'd moved on to mixed drinks. It left him feeling loose between the shoulders, across the chest, loose enough to consider doing things that could get himself back into his own head. A good fuck, that wasn't so hard to find for a good looking man. And he was, theoretically.

A good looking man.

Carefully, he settled himself against the bar and looked out over the crowd. Too self-absorbed, too little self-esteem. More interested in getting drinks than sex. Too uptight to enjoy either drinks or sex. And that...

An inconceivably heavy amount of plaid, browns and greens and a thread of pink or red that made him consider what made a man think he could pull it off and pull it off in the same breath. Confidence, though it was hard to tell if he was gay or straight. A man like that looked like he belonged in a hunting club, not a bar. He looked as though he could stand up at any moment and wander off to kill something wild and then cook it and serve it with wild greens and a cranberry reduction.

Strangely, that made him more attractive instead of less, and it made Will wonder about himself just a little more than usual.

It was a strange vibe to be getting off of the man, but Will knew to trust his instincts. All he had was instinct most days, even when he was doing his damnedest to put himself in a position for a career ending DUI. Will leaned back on the back, breathing in the feeling of the man as he looked sideways at Will.

"Good evening." The greeting was civilized, the accent intriguing. "May I buy you a drink?"

Unexpected. Perhaps he shouldn't have started to drink away his brains. "Uh, sure. Please." A hello would've been nice, but he still felt a little stunned looking at lean, blond, plaid and Nordic. "I'm Will."

"And I am Hannibal." There was something about the way he said it, just a touch of something that he couldn't quite peg, and yet he still found it... perhaps not charming, but inviting. "It is nice to meet you."

This was a man who could quite clearly be dangerously appealing. It made Will wonder about him. Then again, he wondered about many things.

He wondered about himself, about his sanity. About why he was picking people up in the bar or why he'd been sitting there attempting to project the feeling of someone who was there for pay in a layered way that... Felt like practice. Like training. It was the best he could do, and Jack would laugh at him practicing mentalities and mindsets, but empathy needed nursing in non-threatening environments sometimes. 

"It's nice to meet you, too. Do you come here often?" Oh, he was the master of clunkers, of social failure. There was knowing and doing, apparently, and they were clearly very different things.

"As often as I feel the need to come here, I suppose. And you?" Perhaps it was simply that he was so polite that made Will feel... off.

Perhaps it wasn't.

"Not really a regular." He gave a smile, hoped the flash of teeth seemed charming and not disturbing. He should have just stood on a street corner. Then he could've gotten an anonymous fuck and pocket money to get the dogs treats.

They'd enjoy that.

"I could tell." Yes, and those dark eyes were telling, looking over him with something like hunger. The light in the bar must be odd, because there was a faint reflection in them, almost red. "Nor am I. Perhaps we are both in good fortune this evening.”

It made him relax, it made him feel an odd kinship -- not the words, but the movement of his mouth, and he dropped his own eyes again to just below the man's eyes, his nose, the edges of his mouth. "Then maybe we could move on from our drinking."

The quirk of chiseled lips held a deep appeal. ""And yet we have not even begun."

"Then we can see how far we get with small talk. I'll apologize up front for the quality of it." The bartender was coming over to them, and Will's eyes darted, tracked the movement. 

"What can I get you?"

The man inclined his head gently and tilted a hand towards Will. "Another of whatever this fine gentleman is having, and..." His gaze lingered over the various offerings along the wall, lingering on labels. "Perhaps I will have the same."

Will grimaced, and eyed his own glass for a moment, feeling suddenly judgmental of his own poor taste. "It's Wild Blue. You don't really look like the beer drinking type."

The sheer look of horror was somehow deeply charming. "Or perhaps I will not. I will hope instead that you have a more palatable stout."

"We do. And do you want another?" He gestured to Will's drink, and Will nodded.

"Please." That was a bone deep horror, a truly felt reaction rather than a reaction for the sake of it. "The stout is probably a better choice. I'm not a _quality_ drinker."

"Clearly not." And then some, and the fact that he seemed to find that amusing was something at least. "However, I find you charming all the same."

Charming. Will glanced up to the man's eyes, just briefly. "If we weren't having this conversation for less than altruistic reasons, I'd think you were putting me on."

Broad shoulders shrugged beneath the hideously subtle plaid. "I find that it would be ridiculous to do so, all things considered."

Not worth the effort on a one-off -- there were other ways, less archaic ways, to flatter a potential fuck. Will felt himself losing the threads of his reason for being there, but there were threads to grasp now. "You're either a psychiatrist, or a judge."

"And you," Hannibal responded, "are an excellent judge of character. I am a psychiatrist, in point of fact. What was it that let you know?"

A confluence of factors, a sense of knowing. "Your bearing. You're still dressed for work, in clothes and..." He made a gesture, drawing his fingers down in front of his face. "I'm familiar with it from psychiatrists I work with."

"I find that fascinating. What sort of work is it that you do? I expect that it is not the sort of work for which you are giving off vibes." Ah, well. "At a guess."

"So it worked?" He was curious what it felt like to be on the receiving end, now that he'd dropped the charade and ruined it by talking. So he'd gotten the look and the feel right, but not the words. Close, though. That was good. He was making progress, and possibly didn't answer the question. "Which, if it did, I'm sorry for setting you up for disappointment."

Hannibal nodded, and took the beer when it was finally offered. Busy night. "I would say that it did work indeed, which suggests to me that you have a very interesting talent. It also suggests that perhaps I will be luckier than I first thought this evening."

Still, when a psychiatrist went looking for a hooker... Will wasn't sure. It was potentially the setup to a joke. A psychiatrist walks into a bar, and mistakes an FBI profiler for a whore...

"I'm just a professor of criminalistics." He got away with a lot just by being a professor, which always made him question society in the larger sense, because what did it say when the very people they entrusted their children to were, out of hand, immediately expected to be unreliable, unstable and unable to control basic impulses of behavior?

The way that Hannibal tilted his head and smiled seemed... he didn't know, exactly. "Somehow I suspect that you are not _just_ anything." He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a deep swallow.

Will let himself watch, unencumbered by eye contact, as he tilted his head back a little, neck exposed, and that had been a problem as well since the last case, necks. Long lovely necks, muscular, maybe the necktie was highlighting it. He was sure he'd never had that problem before, that it was psychic residue clinging to him still. "Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar."

"And sometimes, a cigar is something else altogether." Yes, and the idea of that seemed to amuse the man as well. "Perhaps, despite being something else entirely than portrayed, you would like to drink your beer and then we could go... elsewhere?"

There were smoother, more flirtatious ways to respond, but Will managed a smile that he felt deep in his chest, and an answer of, "Yes. It's a little loud in here to really talk." And a little straight in there to get down to anything filthy, and Will or some psychic residue that was currently composing Will, wanted to get down to filthy with the man beside him. He shifted on the barstool, denim clad knee against plaid, and briefly caught the man's eyes.

"Finish your beer and we will leave." Those words should have sounded different, perhaps even condescending. Instead, it was an invitation, appealing and warm.

He responded to that. Jack was like that, firm like a guiding hand without bringing out an urge to rebel. Will nodded, and took a swig of his beer, let it settle in the back of his throat for a moment before he swallowed. "That's a good plan."

"I'm glad you think so." And that was that. They sat companionably side by side and drank for a while. There was no itching sense of needing to move, only a steady anticipation in the way they behaved. It was odd and something that Will found he could appreciate, low and understated, a weight of anticipation that he seldom felt about other people unless they were a victim in a scene he was reenacting. He took his time with the beer, let the blueberry linger on his tongue, and set the bottle down to look sideways at what was the most interesting psychiatrist he'd ever met.

There was the tiniest of smiles upon the man's face, and he tipped his head to the side, looking at Will from the corner of his eyes. "We will leave whenever you are ready."

"I'm ready." It was odd, that he found the man _warming_ rather than just another domineering asshole. Maybe what he was looking for was a night out with someone who was domineering enough to put out all the other personalities.

That was a trick he hasn't tried before; letting someone take him under until he was just one base personality, only concerned with nerve endings, sensation, the urge to give in to someone who could make that happen. "Then let us go."

This one might do it without him even asking much. Will slid off of his barstool, and watched Hannibal ease into a standing position. Sliding was too graceless to the be correct explanation for what he'd just done, and there was a self composure that reminded Will of acting as he left his tab coverage on the counter in cash. "You drove?"

"Of course." Just as though the only possible answer was just that. "This way, then."

He moved towards the side door instead of the front, every line of him utterly self-possessed. The way he walked seemed in no way to be overbearing or to force others out of his path and yet somehow the crowd around them parted easily, stepping out of his way. He could almost taste Jack warning him not to go home with strangers. Like he was five, like that wasn't how Jack had met his wife, being the stranger, like that wasn't how everyone else In the world found other people and somehow it was off limits for Will. He wanted to ask the man if it was business or pleasure, but it seemed rude.

The night air was brisk when it hit him in the face, faintly salty, and he pulled his coat on, wrapping it tightly around his shoulders. Sometimes he thought about leaving his job, walking away, just spending the rest of his life living in a house on the beach, working on outboard motors, never seeing another crime scene again. He know that he could be happy that way, knew that it would be better for him than what he was doing now, but Jack always called him back. Jack knew how to convince him to keep on going, knew the words to use to make him feel responsible for whatever crime he couldn't solve, and until Jack stopped doing that, Will couldn't stop doing his job.

Teaching, teaching was good, but teaching was what put him close enough to be pulled in in the first place. They were headed toward a BMW -- low slung and lovely, sleek lines. Not new, not the newest, but classic. Ageless, and he hunched his shoulders a little, watching Hannibal move slow and sleekly to the... passenger side door? "Huh."

He really did like that smile. It was easy, just open enough, teeth small and white and perfect. "I am not a man who always needs to dominate my surroundings." That was a declaration, subtle and yet not, and it said so many things in its simplicity that Will was nearly overwhelmed.

"Not when it comes so naturally." He got into the passenger seat -- worn, comfortable leather, recently detailed smell, his seat less well used than the driver's seat. "Thank you."

"You are welcome. Shall we?" One hand waved as though that said everything that needed saying.

It was strange enough for Will to be picked up in a bar; stranger still to be picked up in a bar and then given someone else's keys to drive their car. "You're very trusting," he said as he turned the key in the ignition.

"Not really." It was spoken calmly, evenly. "I am an excellent judge of character. Your attempt to project as someone else was quite interesting, however... I have a feeling that it is entirely safe to allow you to drive my car."

"Low quality blueberry beer aside, huh?" He took a moment to appreciate the feel of the engine, and then adjusted the mirrors, which was force of habit from years of rental cars, and Hannibal was right. He was entrusting his car with someone at least safety _minded_ , even if the execution wasn't always there. "The question is, your place, mine, or a neutral ground?"

That didn't even seem to take any consideration. "For a first time, neutral ground is never a bad choice."

"Safer." He was pretty sure his dogs would be off-putting, because he knew he was just on the cusp of animal hoarding. If he found any more after Winston, he'd have to work on fostering them out. He pulled out of the parking spot carefully and onto the road.

Thankfully their area wasn't lacking for decent hotels that would have an opening.

The drive, much like their shared drink, was quiet, easy. Will could feel an undertone of anticipation, something that thrilled along his spine and said _things_. He wasn't entirely sure what all of them meant; he was still in that lost space, uncertain and feeling off because of the latest case. One way or the other, they all seemed to sing. If there was a little thrill of danger there, well.

He was still a little caught up in the case. He was sure that it would pass.

It would ease back, recede to a wall of hotel facades and parking spaces that he eased into without being particularly aware of how he got there. "Neutral enough?" It wasn't the Ritz, but it was a Sheraton, which couldn't be too bad.

"It will do, I think. Nice enough without being too nice. We wouldn't want to worry about that, I think."

"I worked a scene in this hotel once. They use enough bleach on everything to make even the most squeamish person comfortable about the bedding." Which meant they could filth it up, and enjoy that no one was going to be sharing anything with them retroactively. He turned the engine off, and handed the keys back to Hannibal. "Your car is exceedingly nice to drive. Thank you."

The slow, subtle stretch of that smile seemed pleased. "Thank you for driving." Reaching forward, he pulled open the glove box and fetched a small black bag, drawstring pulled neatly closed. "Shall we?"

Small black bag, now that was interesting. Apparently the other man was much more prepared than he was for their assignation. "Yes." He inclined his head, and got out. It was easy to fall into step with him as they hit the lobby, hands tucked into his pockets, close but not unaccountably so. This was the moment where he always fumbled, though, the room reservation. _Hello, I'd like a room with a king bed, sure, one night, no, no, not two doubles_ , because they saw too many business people who felt like playing games.

"One moment." It was said quietly, and Hannibal stepped away from him, leaving him standing near a column while he had a conversation with the clerk. He could hear their conversation, something about a trip running overlong for them, a request for toothbrushes and toothpaste as though everyone asked for such things. A bit of information trading, the handoff of a credit card, and then he turned back to Will. The fact that the clerk had actually found them new toothbrushes was random and bizarre, but what the hell.

It left him smiling a little, half from startlement, but definitely feeling it as he pushed away from the column. There was confidence, and then there was _confidence_ , and a supreme comfort in every word he uttered. "You're impressive. I can barely find my travel card most days."

"Over the years, I have come to realize that if one approaches a certain situation with authority and certainty, then it becomes a great deal easier simply to push through without embarrassment." Yeah. That was maybe a possibility. Will had just never managed that self-assurance.

Will couldn't manage that kind of self-assurance except in those moments where he knew he had a lead on a case. Jack was that overwhelming as well, but Jack wasn't quiet and calm about anything.

Jack usually elicited the phrase 'you ass' inside of Will's head, and it had recently been a repetition of Jack you ass Crawford, and why was he thinking of Jack? "It's... effective." He fell into step with him again on their way to the elevators.

"We're in room four-twenty-three. I'm assured that there are no occupants on either side of it." And that did seem to please him immensely.

It made his dick ache in anticipation, and it felt good to see the other man cast a look over him as they stepped into the elevator. He didn't look; his eyes scraped over Will, shoes up. Hotel lighting was different than bar lighting. "Now that's heartening."

"Indeed." Again with the smile, subtle, and there was a shimmer in those dark eyes, a sherry color that made him pause, made his pulse pick up.

He was hallucinating, he was sure of it, but he'd never had hallucinations so subtle. 

The bright side of it was that Will didn't even really have to ask if the man preferred top or not. They made it into the room, and by the time the door was open and closed again behind them, florescent light warming up overhead with a mosquito buzzing while he gathered up his nerves and leaned in to kiss the other man. 

The longer he waited, the more awkward it would get for him.

Hannibal took it as his due, allowing Will to lean into him, gathered him close with a sweep of one arm. It was unfamiliar, nothing like kissing a woman, very little like kissing any of the men Will had kissed either. There was something about it, something very like being overtaken, and it made his breath hitch.

He was a man with an overactive imagination and a bad headspace. The arm around him tightened, fractionally, and he was the one backing Hannibal against the wall, but there was no, no feeling of control, nothing that the killer part of his mind was reaching for, snapping at and failing to grasp. It was a relief, and the other man tasted of lager and a little like meat. Something, something... Familiar.

Something so close, just at the edge of his understanding, and then there was a motion, a movement, and the world shifted into something strange and spectacular, physical. A click, a nearly visceral shift in reality, and fuck.

It was gone.

It was gone, but Will Graham remained, shaking a little now as he pulled back, looking at Hannibal's face but not his eyes, breathing hard because it almost hurt to feel, to be, Christ he was sore and tired, and exhausted, and hard, hard as a rock, so he leaned back in and kissed him again. "You, I've been trying to shift my headspace for days, it just clicked, and I think I have to keep you."

As a good luck talisman, if nothing else.

"Then I will be pleased to be kept." Murmured, yes, so close to his mouth, and then Hannibal moved and they were closer to the bed, and that was everywhere that he wanted to be.

He moved, anticipated where he was going, sat on the edge and kept a hold on Hannibal as kisses turned to roaming hands and he tried to work out how best to unshell the other man. All of that plaid, three piece suit, ridiculous tie with its ridiculously large knot, it made him want to find out what was beneath it.

What he could touch. What he could devour.

The fact that there was so much of it made it that much harder to work out where to start, and unknotting an actual tied tie wasn't as quick and sexy as they made it seem in the movies. He had to still his fingers, and he had to breathe and focus on Hannibal while he slid his fingers up into the knot and unraveled it, while the other man watched raptly and let him. "This is like a suit of armor."

For a long moment, Hannibal was still and quiet, paused. "Sometimes it is easier to present an outward appearance of strength to the world than to reveal one's true self. Somehow, I believe that you might understand that."

Right in the heart of the matter, and he understood it viscerally. Will pulled at the knot, had the tie hanging open as his fingers moved down to unbutton the vest instead. "You're much better at presenting strength than I am." He didn't need to know a person for very long to tell that.

There were hands at his waist, tugging at his shirt, pulling it loose from his jeans. Two fingers caressed across the small of his back, gentle and easy. "Perhaps I have simply had more time to perfect my armor. You will learn it, eventually."

He wouldn't have said such a thing if he knew Will better, but the conundrum was that if he knew Will better he certainly wouldn't have been there. "I'll have to take your word for it." Just fingers, and he wanted to surge forward, press into Hannibal, and he was never going to get the man undressed.

"Why don't you step back for me for just a moment?" An invitation, perhaps, but more like something else altogether. It made Will want to do exactly as he was told.

And hell, why not? He stepped back, the backs of his legs against the edge of the mattress, taking a shallow breath to ease himself back a little before he ripped or popped anything. "Okay."

Okay, and he felt breathless, felt... something. Something without words, and Hannibal was watching him, head tilted to the side. "Take off your shirt, and your trousers."

That was what he wanted to hear, liked the firmness of the order, coming from a man who was wholly self-possessed. His fingers tripped for a moment, looking at some indeterminate point on Hannibal's shirt while he unbuttoned his own. It wasn't for show, nor was stripping out of his trousers to stand there in undershirt and boxer briefs. Waiting.

"So, I have learned something new about you." Hannibal tilted his head to the side. "The rest, then. And onto the bed, just in the center."

"What did you learn?" He had to ask, had to be curious, knowing, even as he stretched and pulled his undershirt up over his head, dropped the underwear on the rest of his discarded clothes before he followed that very sensible, very appealing order. Sat, half sprawled, atop the duvet, waiting. Waiting and waiting. Yes, that was entirely him.

Him, in his own head, and he couldn't remember the last time that had been the case, the last time he had been in possession of himself. He thought that he might do just about anything to keep that going.

"I learned that you will do as you're told, given the appropriate circumstance. I have also learned that I enjoy this fact, perhaps a bit more than I should consider to be good for me." The statement was wry, amused, but it wasn't an amusement with Will. It was more amusement at himself, and Hannibal began to tug off his tie. "Do lie down, good Will. I will only be a moment."

He laid down, stretched out. And watched, watched as Hannibal turned the corner to the bathroom, little black bag still secured around his wrist. Interesting, and Will closed his eyes for a moment. He could appreciate when someone else found humor in their own awareness, and his curiosity, the sense of anticipation of what came next kept him alert. 

Water ran for a bit, and then Hannibal walked out of the bathroom again. He was wearing his trousers and his white shirt, the sleeves folded back, open at the throat. The black bag was still present, and he paused at the end of the bed, head tilted to the side. "Lovely."

He wondered why there'd been water running, but he didn't ask, just let himself look. Hell, even a faint undressed handsome man was better than he'd done in a long time, and he made Will want just by standing there, open and appreciative looking. No artifice. "Please."

Please, and he was afraid that there would be no response. It didn't come in the way he meant, either, but Hannibal did shift forwards, sat on the edge of the bed and began to pull things out of the bag. Nothing odd, just appropriate –- lube and condoms and surgical gloves, and he began to pull them on before he spoke again. "Don't worry, Will. Everything you want will be coming to you."

Surgical gloves was an interesting moment, and he shifted his shoulders, feeling his mind halfway wanting to make a leap wanting to sit up from his sprawl but stopping himself. "I, the gloves are novel."

"Mmm." The last one was smoothed on carefully. "Sometimes, I like to go a little farther than most. Perhaps not tonight. Perhaps only so far as making you come."

Fisting. That, that was something he possibly hadn't drunk enough to handle, hadn't ever handled, and he shifted up onto his elbows, looking at the other man thoughtfully. The calm hadn't gone anywhere, hadn't shifted at all, and his manner seemed almost... surgical. Layers under layers, under that suit. "I'm not averse to the idea. Just not sure about it."

"Then we will not attempt it tonight." And there it was, that there would be other nights. Nights in which they might try this again, or something like it, and Will swallowed at the very idea of it. "For tonight, there will simply be pleasure, I think. Lie back again, Will."

He shifted, sank back down onto the mattress, and Hannibal moved in closer, slowly, a mild invitation for Will to reach out and touch, because he wanted. But he didn't want to interrupt whatever the other man was planning, and it felt so good just to be himself and living in the moment feeling the sheets against his back, the cool of the too air-conditioned room.

The touch of a hand, gliding up his arm and then down again, latex-covered fingers smooth and cool and plucking delicately at a nipple. "When was the last time, Will? That someone touched you, and meant it?"

He inhaled, fought his eyelids for a moment to try to come up with an answer. "Hmn, not sure, not really a strong suit of mine..." He was generally a pariah, or a man in a pariah costume, which amounted to the same thing.

"I find that quite a shame, Will." The palm of that hand rested lightly on his breastbone for a long moment, and then moved to tease at his other nipple. "You are a lovely man. Made for pleasure, I would say."

Impossibly doubtful, but he shifted his hand, fingers brushing the side of Hannibal's arm as if it might goad him on. It didn't sound like flattery, though, nothing did. "You have a strange way of showing it."

The hum Hannibal gave was delicious. It made him shift, made his dick bob in the air, and he wanted... he wanted. Hannibal wasn't giving him enough, and then his other hand came into play, stroking just as delicately.

Will's next breath escaped in a shiver, and he shifted his foot restlessly, halfway to trying to get traction, but stopping himself. He wanted to see where Hannibal took it, because that slow stroke of fingers along the line of his dick made his balls ache and feel heavier.

"Perhaps it is a strange way of showing it, but I do find you greatly pleasurable, Will." Yes, and his hand slipped further down, cupping Will's balls and rolling them slowly with his fingers.

"I'm some hmn, somewhat accustomed to reciprocating..." Somewhat, because not caveating it would be a lie, and he was just supposed to lie there and enjoy it? Which wouldn't have been a hardship because he was going to develop a kink about latex gloves all on his own from the smooth pull of them over his skin that left his hand unsteady.

"Next time." It sounded like a promise, and then one hand pulled away, reaching for the lubricant. "For now, I find a great deal of pleasure simply in watching you."

He let his head loll for a moment, breathing out slowly as he watched Hannibal slick two gloved fingers. Will wanted to touch, to cling, to feel back, but he contented himself with fingers against the side of Hannibal's knee, with watching and appreciating what seemed like a strange and wondrous moment.

"Do you often do things like this?" Hannibal seemed to mean the question, in all honesty. "Not that I believe you do, only I feel the urge to ask." Yes, and to keep touching him, one hand light yet firm on his cock, the other sliding slick and easy behind his balls.

The trite set answers crowded his mind, made themselves available. No, never, I'm not slutty like that, except sex was one of the few honest transactions in the world, and Will wished he was capable of having regular one night stands. Two night stands. Intimacy, and the press of a finger slowly easing into his ass. It was hard to answer and feel. "No, no, I never... Never seem to have the time."

"You should make the time." That wasn't chiding; it in no way made him feel like a child, it only made him feel... perhaps desirable was the best word. "You are quite responsive. Anyone who didn't find you a delight would be a fool."

Then there were a lot of fools in the world, but Will let that thought slide away as he shifted, trying to get traction, trying to get more sensation, the tether between them weak and faint, fingertips and fingers the only connection.

"Let yourself go, Will. I know you want to." Wanted to, yeah, and then there was another finger teasing at him, thumb rubbing behind his balls, and oh. Oh, that was... he wanted more. So much more, right now, more.

He wanted to let go, wanted to, but he wasn't particularly skilled in that. In just feeling, fingers, two now, in him, a stroking hand, and he wanted more. "Please. Please, Hannibal..."

"It's all right." A promise, that, and he leaned forwards, blocking out the light, and caught Will's mouth in a kiss.

He wanted to say he had the pride not to fall for a kiss like a simpering school girl, but more like a horny guy who'd had a long dry spell. The hand he put on the side of Hannibal's neck felt grounding, and the linger of heat near his body was maybe enough to feel the strings of control start to slip. Will felt him shift, felt his hand move, and suddenly he had more, more fingers, more fullness, and fuck. Fuck, that was, he couldn't think. Could only moan, and shudder and feel.

The motion didn't stop, and the kissing came and went, intermittent. He just breathed, fell into it, started to thrust and tried to get more, tried to, he was so damn close. "Fuck, please."

Please, please, please, and Hannibal's mouth wandered, making its way down Will's jaw and then there was a nip at his throat, sharp, bruising, and he couldn't. He couldn't.

Hold on any longer, couldn't hold back, and he was coming, ass clenched tight around too many fingers, balls throbbing and fuck he had to have made a mess of it, of Hannibal, but he didn't care, not yet, moving and clutching at the man's shirt even as orgasm bled into shivering aches.

Coming down was... slow and steady, and he felt completely worn out from it, body noodle loose and he sighed, opening his eyes to find Hannibal licking semen from the side of his palm, near the thumb. "That was exquisite."

He gave a quiet snort of a laugh, hand lingering on Hannibal's leg again. He was going to have to clean those pants, but the plaid did a decent job of hiding the splotch. "That was... unexpected. You still have too many clothes on."

"Perhaps. In fact, very likely, but..." Hannibal's eyes were dropped lazily, and he leaned in to kiss Will again.

Everything was easier without eye contact, and with the slow lingering touch of lips against his own, the faint suggestion of tongue and the taste of his own semen, Will didn't care that the other man was still mostly clothed.

He didn't care about anything except that it felt… so, so good, and he wanted more.

Will kept his eyes closed when Hannibal pulled back at last, licking the corner of his mouth. More, and later, and he'd found Will, and he'd been ready. He knew Will wasn't _not_ a local, which in D.C. was almost as rare as blue suns, and he'd trusted Will's driving record despite the drinking. 

He slid his hand down to the man's wrist, the edge of a latex glove. "I think I need to talk to Jack about unorthodox methods. What do you think?"

Silence for a few beats, and then Hannibal smiled. "I was thinking of sending him flowers. A sort of thank you, in point of fact."

He opened his eyes again, glancing up for a moment. The knowledge settled over him like a warm blanket, because he could keep. He... he got to keep that, then. Someone who, for once, put him back into his own skin. Just him and his five senses and knowledge, yes, of the world around him, but it was all him for a while again. "It would add something interesting to the behavioral sciences gossip pool."

"Then I will make sure that the envelope is very clearly marked on the outside," Hannibal murmured, and then kissed him again.


End file.
